


Bad Guy

by rizlowwritessortof



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Rough Sex, Slight dub-con in the beginning, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-20
Updated: 2018-05-20
Packaged: 2019-05-09 08:50:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14712956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rizlowwritessortof/pseuds/rizlowwritessortof
Summary: This was written for @eyes-of-a-disney-princess Rapunzel’s Tangled up with Supernatural Challenge on Tumblr. My Tangled quote inspired (And talking to @littlegreenplasticsoldier just encouraged me further :D) Demon!Dean thoughts, so… (Also, Jensen kicking his hotel room door in at Montreal and singing “Like a Wrecking Ball” at NashCon didn’t hurt…)Thank you @mrs-squirrel-chester for being willing to read my stuff and actually making me feel like I can string words together. I love you, girl.





	Bad Guy

The rude vibrations of your phone startle you out of your stupor, and you squint angrily at the flashing as you grab the offending thing and put it to your ear. “This had better be a fucking emergency,” you say in a half-whisper, your voice raspy from the burn of whiskey, the angry screams of denial. You’ve been sitting here for hours, ever since you arrived back home from the bunker. You had left Sam in the same state of mind, but you couldn’t bear to share your grief, not yet, not even with him.

“Oh, baby, it’s an emergency.”

Your entire body freezes. This is a dream. Or a nightmare. Some kind of torture designed to break you even further than you’ve already been broken by the death of the only man you’ll ever love.

“Who the hell is this?”

“You know who it is. And I’m on my way to see you. I’ll be there in five.”

“Not fucking kidding, who is this? Because you are not who you’re pretending to be. That’s impossible.” You are pissed beyond belief, gripping your phone so tight it’s amazing it hasn’t cracked. “Whatever, whoever you are, you just fucked with the wrong girl.” You hang up, your teeth clenched together, and you pitch yourself off the couch, storming into the bedroom to take your gun from the drawer and shoving the clip in on your way back to the living room. Whoever this fucker is, he’s gonna die.

You hear the familiar rumble that you know is the Impala’s engine, and it stops just outside in the drive. Your heart is pounding, the adrenaline pumping through you, and you take your stance a few feet back from the door, the safety off. When he speaks, just outside, chills run down your spine. “I’m coming in, one way or another, sweetness. Might as well be friendly about this.”

“You’re not who you say you are. And if you come in that door, you’re getting shot.”

He laughs, and the deep timbre of his voice makes the bottom drop right out from under you. It sounds exactly like him, and you grit your teeth, knowing you will have to force yourself to pull that trigger. “This is gonna be more fun than I thought,” he responds, and a split second later splinters are flying as he puts a heavy booted foot through the door, sending it crashing against the wall beside it, hanging broken from its hinges. “Hi, honey – I’m home.”

Your eyes are wide with shock, your mind refusing to believe that what you see is real. It has to be a shifter or some other evil creature imitating him. Dean is dead. You saw the body. You wept over it. He was broken, his heart pierced through by an angel blade. Murdered by Metatron. This thing is not Dean.

You fire, and he jerks back at the impact of the bullet in his shoulder. “Now is that any way to welcome back the love of your life? Kind of a rude greeting, wouldn’t you say?” He’s smiling, rolls his shoulder a little and takes another step, and you fire again, this time hitting him in the chest. “Kind of hurting my feelings here, darlin’. I mean, I come back from the dead, come to see my best girl, and this is how you treat me? I think we need to talk about your behavior.” He reaches for the glass of whiskey you had left on the table beside the sofa, draining it in one gulp and setting the glass back down calmly.

“What are you?” Your voice is shaking, but you don’t lower your weapon. He grins – yes, grins at you, tilts his head a little and sighs as if he’s dealing with a stubborn child.

“Well, that is an interesting story. But it’s really me. I’ve missed you, baby.”

“You are not Dean.” Your fingers feel like ice, and you think absently that you’re probably going into shock, but you don’t budge. “Don’t make me shoot you again.”

He runs his fingers roughly through his hair and narrows his eyes at you. “You know, you’re starting to piss me off.” He takes another step in your direction, and you aim a little lower this time, pulling the trigger and hitting him in the meat of his thigh. His smile fades. “Okay. Play time is over.” He charges at you, fast enough that you don’t have a chance to get another shot off, and rips the gun from your hand, throwing it across the room. He grabs you by the arm, yanking you with him as he heads down the hall.

“No!!!” you scream, pulling and fighting every step of the way, and he stops suddenly, gripping your shoulders and slamming you up against the wall. His eyes are hard, calculating, and a sneer slowly curves his lips before he crashes them into yours.

You struggle, cold terror washing through you, and you shove at him, desperate to get away. Your resistance has no effect, however. In fact, he chuckles darkly, forcing your arms behind your back and holding them there as he continues kissing you. As soon as he has you trapped, unable to fight him, his manner changes, his kiss becomes hungry but gentle, and you fight to keep yourself from responding. He is kissing like Dean, exactly like Dean, and he smiles a little as though he knows your thoughts. You feel it on your lips as you whimper, your body beginning to betray you, responding to his touch, his taste, the feel of his body against yours.

When he finally lifts his head, looking into your eyes with a self-satisfied smirk, you are trembling so hard you can barely stand. “How are you doing this, you evil fuck? What are you?”

The amusement fades from his face slowly, and he glares at you, but you refuse to look away.  _ **“You** **want me to be the bad guy? Fine, now I’m the bad guy.”**_  He blinks, and when he opens his eyes, you recoil in horror. His eyes are completely black, fathomless and utterly terrifying. He leans a little closer, and you press yourself into the wall, unable to get farther away. He blinks again, his eyes going back to Dean’s beautiful green, and you feel a tear trickling slowly down your cheek.

“You’re a demon? You possessed his body? You son of a bitch!”

“I’m not possessed, sweetheart. Just reborn. The Mark brought me back like this, new and improved. So, yeah, it’s really me. All of it.” You stare back at him, unable to think of anything to say, shocked into momentary silence. He bends to nuzzle at your neck, and you stiffen at the touch of his tongue against your skin.

“Dean, you’re a demon. You’re the thing you used to hunt. We used to hunt. Together.”

He lifts his chin a little, that cocky smirk back on his lips. “So, you believe me now? That I’m really me? Because if you try to shoot me again, I might start taking it personally.”

“You can’t want to live like this. You – the real you - would never have wanted this, Dean.”

“You don’t know what I’d want. This, the way I am now… I’m free. No more guilt, no more beating myself up every minute of every day for all the shit in my life. I can do what I want, when I want.” He’s kissing your neck again, nipping and sucking softly, making your knees weak along with your will. “And the first thing I wanted when I woke up, the very first thing on my mind was how I wanted to come in here, take you right up against this wall. Fill you up and make you scream my name, the way you used to do before I got this Mark in the first place.” He latches on to the tender spot where your neck slopes down to meet your shoulder, marking you.  

Your resistance is growing weaker, and he moves his mouth up to nuzzle at your ear, speaking in a low rumble that sets your nerves buzzing. “I know you’ve missed me. I know you want me. I can feel it, I can smell it. I’m not here to hurt you, baby. I’m here because I want you. I’m here because I need you.”

He’s kissing along your jaw now, one hand slipping beneath your shirt to touch your skin, fingers caressing along the waist of your shorts. “Remember how we used to be? How we could forget the whole world when we were together? Before the Mark came between us?”

“I remember,” you whisper, closing your eyes at the intensity of the desire he’s bringing to life inside you, nerves buzzing and sensitive to the slightest touch, the ache between your thighs almost unendurable. When his lips touch yours again, his fingers popping the snap and inching down the zipper of your shorts, you don’t have the strength to resist any longer. He senses your surrender, growling softly into your kiss, releasing your arms to clasp around his neck.

His hand now free, he pushes your shorts and panties down until they fall around your ankles, and you lift one foot and then the other, kicking them out of the way. Then he grips your shirt in both hands and jerks, rending it from the neck to the hem, leaving it hanging from your shoulders. His tongue glides over his lips as he takes the front clasp of your bra in his fingers, opening it and pushing it aside, taking your breasts into his hands with a groan. “So damn perfect,” he whispers, bending to place a sucking kiss to each nipple as you struggle to keep yourself standing. His fingers slip between your legs, one arm scooping you up, and he pins you against the wall, groaning at the pressure against his cock, still trapped beneath his jeans. He shoves two fingers inside you, grinding the heel of his hand into your clit, and you’re not even trying to stay quiet any more.

“Hold on, sweetheart,” he orders, and you tighten your arms around his neck. He pulls his arm from behind you, tearing at the button and zipper of his jeans, his fingers buried so deep inside you that you gasp, trying to brace yourself with your arms. He wrestles his clothes down as quickly as he can, pulls his hand from between your thighs and grips your hips, his eyes meeting yours, predatory and dark with lust. “Hope you’re not attached to those pictures,” he says, teeth clenched, jerking his head towards the cluster of photos hanging not far from your head. Then he slams into you with one savage thrust, forcing a hoarse scream from your throat, frames breaking and glass shattering as the pictures crash to the floor one by one, jarred loose by the repeated impact of his body into yours. You can feel bruises forming on your body, every stroke wringing breathless moans from your lips, your nails tearing into his shoulders through his shirt as he bites hard enough to break the skin in the same spot that he marked you. You feel his heat flooding you, his growl sending a flash of primal fear through you, but you’re lost in a dark ecstasy of your own. Your head is spinning, your body quaking, your muscles seized and spasming around him, and you feel yourself fading into a mindless daze.

His arms surround you, holding you close, and you hear the debris crunch beneath his boots as he carries you into your room. When you can focus again, you’re lying on your bed. You let your head roll to the side, eyes finally coming to rest on Dean. His jeans are pulled up to his hips, still unfastened and hanging loose, and he’s digging through your dresser, tossing piles of clothing onto the bed near your feet.

“What… what are you doing?” you manage to rasp out, and he turns towards you, smiling.

“Packing. So we can get out of here. Before Sammy shows up to check on you.”

“Packing?” You squeeze your eyes shut for a moment, trying to clear the cobwebs.

“Yeah, packing. You’re coming with me, sweetness.”

“I can’t just…”

“Yes. You can. It’ll be good. It’ll be great. Just – rest up for a minute.”

You struggle to sit up, your body exhausted and aching. You grab some clothes from the growing pile and quickly slip on a pair of panties, sweats and a t-shirt, trying frantically to remember where you left your phone.

“It’s in my pocket.”

“What?”

“Your phone. It’s in my pocket. Don’t need you giving my brother the heads up before we get outta here.”

“Dean…” You shake your head a little, trying to form a rational thought. “Why? Why should I go with you? You just… We just… You fucking bit me!”

He turns to you, his eyes moving over the wound on your neck, a frown furrowing his brow. “I didn’t mean to do that.”

“I know. I know you didn’t mean to, but…”

“Look, I know you don’t trust me right now. Can’t really blame you there.” You can’t look him in the eye, and he puts a hand beneath your chin, tilting your face until your eyes meet. “You have to believe me when I tell you, I’ll always take care of you. I know you think you can’t just take off, but you can. And I’m not leaving without you. I need you, baby.”

For a moment he looks like the Dean you lost, and your heart lurches in your chest. He needs you? Maybe, just maybe, your Dean is still buried in there. And damn it, you don’t want to lose him again. Maybe you need him, too - whether you want to admit it or not. Maybe somewhere down the line you can contact Sam, maybe together you can change him back. Maybe someday you can save him.

“When we get some miles between us, you can let Sammy know you’re okay. But understand me. I don’t want to be cured, whatever that means. I don’t want to be rescued. I like it just fine exactly the way I am. I know you don’t understand it, but that’s the way it is.” He looks into your eyes, waiting for a reaction. Finally, you nod, and he bends to kiss you softly. “That’s my girl.”

You go to the closet, grabbing a duffle, shaking your head again. “I must be crazy.” You stand at the foot of the bed, beginning to pack your things, and he grins.

“Oh, and – by the way – no more shooting me. You may not be able to kill me that way, but it still hurts like hell.”

You smile a little in spite of yourself. “Well, then – don’t piss me off.”

He narrows his eyes, a dark smile on his lips. “You challenging me, baby girl?”

You stare back at him, unflinching. “You might find out just what a stubborn bitch I can be.”

He steps up close behind you, slipping one hand beneath your shirt, resting at your waist as he bends to kiss your neck softly. “But baby – making you give in is half the fun.”


End file.
